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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28099815">i know love's perfect ache</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/violaceum_vitellina_viridis/pseuds/violaceum_vitellina_viridis'>violaceum_vitellina_viridis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>yule gift fics [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Background Eskel/Lambert/Geralt, Boys In Love, Feelings, Flirting, For Heathen the Mad Glorious Bastard, Gift Giving, Kaer Morhen's Fanon Hot Springs (The Witcher), Kissing, M/M, Making Love, Making Out, Multiple Orgasms, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Lambert (The Witcher), Porn with Feelings, Self-Esteem Issues, Soft Eskel (The Witcher), Soft Lambert (The Witcher), Teasing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 12:00:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,604</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28099815</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/violaceum_vitellina_viridis/pseuds/violaceum_vitellina_viridis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Lambert is given the letter by the Dyn Marv Caravan, of all people.</i>
</p>
<p><i>Or, well, actually – no. He’s given the</i> succubus <i>by the crazy fuckers currently running the Dyn Marv, and</i> she <i>gives him the letter.</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>yule gift fics [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2038730</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>113</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Trans Characters in The Witcher Universe</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i know love's perfect ache</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeathenAlchemist/gifts">HeathenAlchemist</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>notes i made about this fic, in no particular order:</p>
<p>-- FIFTEEN THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED FUCKING WORDS MOTHERFUCKER -<br/>-- this is the most historically accurate fic i've ever written (thanks for the infodumping, vinn). if you see something that isn't historically accurate,,, don't @ me<br/>-- related to historical accuracy, i fucking hate that it's "a pair of stays". just motherfucking loathe it<br/>-- heathen's current discord status is "santa, i've been naughty" but apparently i reward bad behavior<br/>-- this is so soft i was giving myself chest pains while writing it</p>
<p>anyway, heathen, i fucking adore you, this fic is <i>specifically</i> targeted and i want you to know that. you bastard.</p>
<p>also, yes, this fic does technically pair with bex's because i'm super gay like that. they're not like, sequels or anything. just...vague companions. and it has also tehcnically been edited - thanks bex and kate - but <i>only</i> technically lmao</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lambert is given the letter by the Dyn Marv Caravan, of all people.</p>
<p>Or, well, actually – no. He’s given the <em> succubus </em> by the crazy fuckers currently running the Dyn Marv, and <em> she </em> gives him the letter.</p>
<p>“How the fuck did you end up with them,” Lambert asks, watching the rowdy group of witchers trundle away in their wagons. “…how the fuck did you end up with this <em> letter. </em> What is going on.”</p>
<p>“Ah, so the lack of inflection is a Witcher thing, then,” the succubus says, perched on a large rock and carefully braiding her long hair.</p>
<p>Lambert does have to admit she’s pretty, prettier than the average sex demon, much prettier than her distant monstrous cousins, certainly. He’s never seen a succubus whose legs match the color of her head hair, either, which makes her particularly striking since her hair is a fiery red-blonde. Her meaning soaks in past his other thoughts eventually, though.</p>
<p>“Wait, what.”</p>
<p>She snorts. “I’m not just some random succubus, and those Cats are hardly the first Witchers I’ve met,” she says, cocking her head to the side as she looks at him. “Hm. At least you’re pretty.”</p>
<p>“…what is <em> that </em>supposed to mean.”</p>
<p>“Nothing,” she says, but her smile says differently. “Go on, open the letter. I’ve been carrying it for weeks, and I spent half of that with them,” she jerks her head in the direction the Dyn Marv disappeared to, “I would at least like the satisfaction of knowing why it was so important to him.”</p>
<p>“<em> Who. </em>”</p>
<p>“Read it, I’m certain you’ll know.”</p>
<p>Lambert sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. He needs a wash, but he doesn’t have any more of the dyed wax with him, and he’s still weeks out from Kaer Morhen. He’s not sure it’s worth it to buy or make any more, since he won’t use it at the keep.</p>
<p>The succubus makes an impatient noise at him. He rolls his eyes, but pries the letter open. It was sealed with what looks like hide-glue, so it tears a little, but not terribly. He unfolds it to find terribly familiar handwriting and sighs.</p>
<p>“Eskel,” he mutters, and the succubus laughs, voice like bells. “He couldn’t wait a few weeks, really.”</p>
<p>“He insisted it was a very important letter.”</p>
<p>“Hm.”</p>
<p>Lambert sighs again and adjusts so his shadow isn’t blurring the messy ink.</p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> Lamb – </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> I don’t know if you plan to come home to the keep this winter, but I have an incentive for you to come back to us, if you need one. I’ve got gifts for you, but you’ll have to earn them; it’s just a game, if you want to play. We want to see you happy and relaxed, after all. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Think of it as motivation to be good for us, to come home and be happy for at least a little bit. We love to see you all sweet – and don’t make that face, you can be perfectly sweet, and you know it. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> And since you’re reading this, which means that you haven’t stabbed Marion, she’ll have a reward for you already. The gifts I have are better, of course, but I need some way to tempt you up the mountain. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> See you when the snow falls, </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> – Eskel </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Lambert sucks in a breath, immediately caught by the idea that Eskel put so much effort into – into what? Asking Lambert to come to Kaer Morhen? <em> Home, </em> he calls it, and he always has, and he’s not <em> wrong, </em> but Lambert doesn’t like admitting it. He will, if pressed, but the press is usually Geralt’s weight on his chest when he’s several orgasms deep, so.</p>
<p><em> Gifts, </em> though, that piques his interest, even if part of him squirms away from the concept of being worthy of something like a reward. And he was already headed toward the keep, anyway,</p>
<p>“So?” the succubus – ostensibly Marion – asks.</p>
<p>“He wants me to go to Kaer Morhen for the winter,” Lambert answers. “He’s offering a bribe for it.”</p>
<p>Marion laughs again. “Ah, that would be this, then,” she says, and pulls a little pouch from the pack at her side. He takes it when she holds it out.</p>
<p>The pouch itself is plain, made of slick, thin leather, and tied together with a braided leather cord. All of it is a little slippery under his fingers, but easy enough to untie and pry open. Inside, he finds a long ribbon of lace. It’s soft and delicate and very clearly expensive, with incredibly detailed flowers twisting along a solid line in the center of the ribbon itself.</p>
<p>It smells strongly of Eskel. Lambert can’t help the deep breath he sucks in, nostrils flaring.</p>
<p>“Seems like his bribe worked, hm?”</p>
<p>Lambert nods, not even embarrassed. It’s not hard to figure out exactly who Marion is; it’s not like she doesn’t know full well just how hard it is to resist Eskel.</p>
<p>Obviously, since she went to so much trouble to get a letter to Lambert for him.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” he mumbles, forcing himself to put the ribbon back into its pouch and tie it closed again. It goes into a little inner pocket of his jerkin, and he pretends not to care about Marion’s knowing smirk. “I don’t have much to offer to pay for the service.”</p>
<p>Marion waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it,” she says. “The adventure, and seeing Eskel again, was plenty payment anyway. Now, I think you’ve got a mysterious Witcher keep to be heading toward, don’t you?”</p>
<p>Lambert nods. Marion grins and hops off of her rocky perch just to walk up to him and tap his nose.</p>
<p>“Have fun this winter, pretty wolf,” she says. “Tell Eskel I say hello.”</p>
<p>Lambert frowns slightly, reaching up to rub his nose. Her touch tingles oddly. “I will.” He’s not sure if he’s answering both statements, or just one. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, and Marion makes a short little cooing noise and then disappears into the forest, going the opposite direction than the Dyn Marv.</p>
<p>Makes sense, he supposes. The Cats can be fun for a while, but a week or more of exposure would make anyone restless to escape.</p>
<p>He resists the urge to pull the lace back out and press it to his face, and heads north.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>By the time he makes it to the keep, it’s been snowing in the mountains for a week, and the ribbon no longer smells like Eskel. He looks and feels and <em> is </em> gross, since he’s been unwilling to risk the cold and bathe for the last half of the trek up the mountains, but Eskel and Geralt bound out of the keep to meet him in the courtyard all the same.</p>
<p>“Lamb,” Eskel murmurs, pressing his face to Lambert’s hair. Lambert tries half-heartedly to squirm away, but Eskel’s arms around his shoulders are like iron bars, and he gives up after only a few seconds, turning his face into Eskel’s throat to inhale the scent of him.</p>
<p>It’s much better straight from the source than it was secondhand off that ribbon.</p>
<p>“Missed you, little wolf,” Geralt murmurs, when he gets his own turn. They don’t hug, not really, but Geralt presses their foreheads together and a palm over Lambert’s heart, taking deep, steady breaths as they do their own reconnecting.</p>
<p>Lambert is freezing, disgusting from travel, and starving, but he thinks he could stand here in the barren, cracked courtyard of Kaer Morhen, holding Geralt with Eskel to their side, for the rest of his life.</p>
<p>Vesemir, though, might take issue.</p>
<p>“Come on,” Lambert prompts, bumping his nose against Geralt’s lightly. “I need a fucking bath.”</p>
<p>Eskel snorts, and Geralt grins, but they help him cart all of his shit into the keep, shoving him between them like they’re rowdy pups. Lambert wouldn’t be able to pry the smile off his face if someone paid him.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>He takes his time in the bath, scrubbing weeks of travel and half-assed attempts at spot cleaning from his skin, as well as taking on the disaster that has become his hair. He never did buy or make any new dyed wax, so the only reason it’s still black right now is because he truly is <em> filthy. </em> Eskel probably regrets putting his face against it, not that he’d ever admit it.</p>
<p>Lambert snorts quietly to himself, and dumps another bucket of steaming water over his head. Most of what flows through and over his hair is still coming out murky, so he sighs and grabs for the soap again. He has to soap it up and rinse an additional two times before it’s finally clean, and then he’s confronted with the reality of combing it.</p>
<p>“Ugh.”</p>
<p>He wonders if he can make Eskel or Geralt do it for him. Probably, if he’s sweet enough about it.</p>
<p>
  <em> We love to see you all sweet – and don’t make that face, you can be perfectly sweet, and you know it. </em>
</p>
<p>He pretends the heat in his face is from the bath, and wraps a towel around his waist to go search for one of them.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>“So, a game.”</p>
<p>He can practically hear Eskel smile behind him, and he smiles, too.</p>
<p>“Mhm.”</p>
<p>“Gonna elaborate?”</p>
<p>“I’m busy.”</p>
<p>Lambert rolls his eyes and turns to look over his shoulder. Eskel is smirking, the little shit, and he snorts before turning back around. “My hair isn’t that distracting.”</p>
<p>“Says you.” Eskel starts at the bottom – something he taught Lambert to do decades ago, but Lambert’s too impatient most of the time. It’s easier to just slick his hair back and not deal with the curls or the color.</p>
<p>But it’s winter, and he likes to be lazy.</p>
<p>And Eskel likes his natural hair, so it works out.</p>
<p>“You said something about gifts. Rewards for being good.”</p>
<p>“Mhm.”</p>
<p>“What kind of gifts?”</p>
<p>Eskel chuckles, and his combing moves up a little, the bristles actually stroking along Lambert’s scalp now. He shivers, and Eskel starts to pet the back of his knuckles along Lambert’s nape. “They’re surprises,” he answers.</p>
<p>Lambert sighs, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as if it would give him a solution to Eskel’s teasing. “What does <em> being good </em> entail, then?”</p>
<p>There’s no answer for a long moment, just the sound of Eskel brushing his hair and their breathing, matched alongside their heartbeats because of the proximity. Lambert’s eyes slowly start to close, the familiarity and safety lulling him into a bit of a doze as Eskel goes from brushing his hair out to just playing with the damp strands, twisting curls around his strong fingers.</p>
<p>“Nothing too hard,” Eskel says, voice pointedly casual, and Lambert tries and fails to repress a shiver.</p>
<p>He knows that voice. And Eskel knows that.</p>
<p>“Oh?” he asks, trying for politely curious and landing somewhere closer to quietly desperate instead. One of Eskel’s fingers, still tangled in his curls, pulls just a little. Not hard enough to sting, but enough to tingle, just a little, and Lambert makes a soft noise in response.</p>
<p>“Being good,” Eskel says, “like…trying in training, not slacking off on your chores. Eating during meals. Letting me – letting <em> us </em> – be sweet on you.”</p>
<p>Lambert sucks in a breath through his teeth. “I….”</p>
<p>Eskel’s hand moves, from tangled into his curls to stroking over his scalp, around his ears. “We don’t expect you to not have bad days, Lamb,” he says, gently. “Just…to try, that’s all. And it’s a game, not a demand.”</p>
<p>He slowly lets the breath out. “…okay,” he says, nodding a little. “I’ll play. But if I don’t like the gifts, I’ll get bored pretty quickly.”</p>
<p>“I know,” Eskel chuckles. “I’m not worried about it.”</p>
<p>“Cocky.”</p>
<p>“Give me a reason not to be.”</p>
<p>Lambert bites his lip against the self-deprecating joke climbing up his throat, though it does nothing for his grin, and instead launches out of his chair just to turn around and perch right into Eskel’s lap. “Nah.”</p>
<p>“That’s what I thought.”</p>
<p>The kiss he’s given is worth much more than having the last word in a mock argument, anyway.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>He gets the first gift when he defers to Vesemir’s experience and doesn’t climb up a dangerous wall to check what needs to be repaired. Instead, he waits for the elder Witcher to extend their ladder with some old scrap wood, and allows the time it takes to make the thing sturdier, too.</p>
<p>When the repairs are done and he cleans himself up, he finds a pair of very nice, very well-made wool stockings on his bed. They’re a dark grey, bordering into black, dyed very well and knitted so tightly and evenly that the stitches look almost more like decorative lines than stitches. They’ve also been worked to softness, so well that Lambert doesn’t feel anything catch on his callouses as he strokes over them. Underneath them he finds another gift of cotton garters to hold the stockings up, dyed the same grey and worked to the same kind of softness. There’s a slightly darker pattern on the garters, though, and he picks them up to look closely and finds embroidery. It’s soft, too, and a little slick, and it matches the pattern on the silk ribbon he currently has tied around his clean hair.</p>
<p>They had to be <em> unreasonably </em>expensive, and something pinned between guilt and pleasure squirms in his stomach.</p>
<p>He puts them on, though.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The next gift, he’s relatively sure he receives entirely because Geralt moaned out loud about how good breakfast was, and Lambert was the one to bring Vesemir a bunch of new spices and recipes to try this year.</p>
<p>He doesn’t think it’s a very good example of being good, personally, but he’s already decided he doesn’t want to pick fights with Eskel or Geralt about what they consider <em> being good. </em> So as much as he wants to go find one of them and say something, he doesn’t, and instead studies what he’s been given.</p>
<p>It’s stockings and garters again, but they’re vastly different than the ones he’s currently wearing. Likely just as expensive, though, and his stomach squirms the same way it did with the others. He ignores it.</p>
<p>This pair are silk, softer than any silk Lambert has ever touched before, and stronger, too. They’re woven just as perfectly as the wool ones, but instead of being gray, they’re dyed maroon, and have a very subtle pattern woven in with just slightly darker threads. This pattern also matches the lace ribbon. Something about that – the dedication to a theme, combined with the fact that it’s a rather understated pattern for lace or, well, anything, makes Lambert feel…seen.</p>
<p>Eskel and Geralt (especially Eskel) make him feel like that quite often, of course, so it makes sense. But still, it makes him squirm a little bit, makes his cheeks heat like it always does.</p>
<p>He pets over the silk, then looks to the garters. They’re similar to the ones tied around his knees right now, made of butter-soft cotton, but instead of being the same color as the stockings, they’re a rich, emerald green. The embroidery, though, matches the darker threads in the stockings, an equally rich maroon. Its pattern follows the lace theme as well. He strokes a thumb over the embroidery, the same slick kind of thread as the other garters.</p>
<p>They’re…sinew. He recognizes the shine, now, and the particular slick quality. He brings them to his face to smell, and he can’t be absolutely positive, because it’s been dyed and probably washed a dozen times between their making and now, he thinks they smell like…chort.</p>
<p>Thread made from monster sinew, worked thin enough to do embroidery, dyed to surprising uniformity.</p>
<p>He looks at the stockings again, picks one up and sniffs it too. Nothing that he can pinpoint, but…. He pets over the silk some more and tugs gently at the material. It’s familiar.</p>
<p>Setting the stocking and garter back down with their twins, he goes over to the wardrobe. The box is buried in the back but easy enough to reach, and he reaches into the bottom. The rope is the same.</p>
<p>Spidersilk. And it <em> has </em> to be arachnomorph, because there’s no way to get enough material for stockings out of regular spiders.</p>
<p>His heart thuds once, hard. He swallows.</p>
<p>The second part of stockings and the matched garters get put into his wardrobe carefully. He can’t wear them now, they’re much too fancy to be worn under patchwork, loose-fit breeches while he spars with Geralt or Vesemir.</p>
<p><em> Much too fancy for you at all, </em> a nasty voice in the back of his head whispers, but he ignores it.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>He can’t even pin what he’s done for the next gift, but he’s given it all the same.</p>
<p>It’s pants, this time, made of slick, soft leather, clearly dyed but with a little natural reddish color showing through. He picks them up and recognizes the darker pattern embedded into them. Not the lace, no, this is a pattern natural to the skin of the animal, an interesting cross between veins and scales. One he knows, of course, because he’s <em> made </em>this kind of leather before.</p>
<p>Wyvern leather. Eskel is giving him pants made of <em> wyvern leather. </em></p>
<p>It’s thin, but stunningly strong for it, which is why they use it. It’s not going to block a blade or claw, but it’ll hinder the sharp edge well enough to get out of range for the next swipe, and you probably won’t lose whatever was under the leather.</p>
<p>Of course, the problem is that it’s exceedingly difficult to properly skin a wyvern, never mind the painstaking process to make it into leather.</p>
<p>Lambert pets over the pants for a long time, and pretends his hands aren’t shaking a little.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>He has a bad day.</p>
<p>Yet, when he crashes into his room that night, still fuming from the lecture Vesemir gave him about climbing the towers, Eskel is in his room. Holding what is clearly another gift.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t good,” Lambert spits, not liking the way the words feel in his mouth, the way his stomach sinks, seeing Eskel there holding something he knows was supposed to be for him.</p>
<p>Something he shouldn’t get, because he’s a fuckup and he wasn’t good. He pulls at his hair.</p>
<p>“I disagree,” Eskel says, calm as ever.</p>
<p>Lambert snorts. “It’s an objective fact,” he argues. He knows he shouldn’t, know that this isn’t being good either, but fuck, he’s <em> pissed. </em> He woke up on the wrong side of his head today and hasn’t been able to shake it, which is why he climbed up the tower to be alone, and nearly fucking died going back down because the keep is crumbling around their ears. “I fucked up. Vesemir’s shouting confirms it, even if I didn’t already fucking know.”</p>
<p>Eskel’s expression doesn’t change. “Come here,” he says, and sets whatever it is in his hands to the side. It’s dark gray or black, whatever it is, but Lambert forces himself not to look at it as he does what he’s told. He stops right in front of Eskel’s knees, crossing his arms over his chest.</p>
<p>For a moment, all Eskel does is study him. Lambert shifts uncomfortably but bears it, knowing that he was bad and he deserves the discomfort, deserves the black well of shame welling in his belly.</p>
<p>“Lamb,” Eskel murmurs softly. “Do you want to know why I think you’ve been good?”</p>
<p>“You won’t convince me.”</p>
<p>“That’s not what I asked.”</p>
<p>“Fine.”</p>
<p>Eskel reaches out, and Lambert doesn’t resist when warm, wide hands rest on his hips and pull him closer, until he’s standing between Eskel’s knees. He’s forced to uncross his arms so he can see Eskel’s face past them, and Eskel takes the chance to pull him just a little closer because of it. Lambert swallows back a sharp remark, but only barely.</p>
<p>“You woke up in a bad mood,” Eskel says, and his tone doesn’t offer any space for agreements or arguments. “But you came to breakfast and ate, even if it wasn’t the same amount you usually would. You didn’t shirk your chores, or training, and you still managed to knock Geralt on his ass while clearly half-distracted by whatever has been going on in your head. You ate lunch and dinner, too.”</p>
<p>“That’s just coping,” Lambert muttered. “Doesn’t mean I was good.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t done,” Eskel says, calm and collected, though there’s an edge there that makes Lambert shiver.</p>
<p>“Sorry.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.” Eskel pets from Lambert’s hips to his waist, then back down, hands warm even though the leather of his pants. The wyvern leather ones, of course, because Lambert is weak. They’ve been washed, of course, but he’s also wearing the wool stockings underneath. “Yes, you climbed one of the towers even though we’ve all told you dozens of times not to do it. Yes, you nearly got hurt trying to get down because it’s unsafe, exactly like we’ve told you. But you know what you didn’t do?”</p>
<p>It’s clearly a prompt for an answer. Lambert swallows back all of his snark with significant effort, but he doesn’t actually know, so he can’t answer properly. The black well rises. “What?”</p>
<p>Eskel’s expression softens, just a little. He squeezes gently at Lambert’s waist. “You didn’t hide,” he says. “You didn’t run away when Geralt came to see what the noise was, and you didn’t fight him when he looked you over for injuries, and when Vesemir asked to speak to you, you didn’t fight him, either. With all of that together, Lamb, this was just a bad day, and you were <em> still good despite it. </em>”</p>
<p>Lambert opens his mouth to argue, but finds he doesn’t have an argument, because Eskel is right. He didn’t hide or run, and he let Geralt fuss over him, and he took Vesemir’s lecture standing up and quiet about it. He ate, and did his chores, and didn’t avoid training or try to goad any of them into hurting him.</p>
<p>“…fine,” he finally concedes, looking away as he does. Eskel hums, and this time when his hands slide down and then back up, they slip underneath his shirt to his skin. He shivers a little, and Eskel hums again, clearly pleased.</p>
<p>“Do you want your gift?” he asks.</p>
<p>Lambert looks back to him. “I – you said….”</p>
<p>“I know what I said. I think you’ve been good. But if you don’t think so, I won’t force the gift on you. We can try again tomorrow.”</p>
<p>Lambert suddenly feels very weak in his knees and hands. “I – I…. Can I have it? Please?”</p>
<p>Eskel smiles, soft and adoring. “Of course, Lamb. Lets get you out of these clothes first, though.”</p>
<p>He helps Lambert with his shirt, as well as the pants, and his smile widens when he sees the stockings. Lambert huffs and steps away to take them off himself, but his cheeks are warm and there’s a smile tugging at his mouth, too.</p>
<p>Finally down to his smallclothes, he steps back up to Eskel, who is holding the gift in his lap again. He holds it out, and Lambert takes it, confused as to what it is for a moment before he manages to locate the top. It’s a shift, made of criminally soft linen that’s been dyed black, with understated emerald embroidery along the squared neckline and down the large, puffy sleeves.</p>
<p>He stares at it for a moment, heart hammering. His fingers are a little shaky when he gathers it up to pull over his head, as he carefully smooths it down. It reaches to the top third of his shins, shorter than a normal shift, and really is very, <em> very </em>soft. He can’t stop petting where it rests on his thighs. It fits him perfectly, too, and while that was easy enough to brush off with the stockings and even the pants, this is….</p>
<p>As if reading his mind, Eskel snags his hand and threads their fingers together. “Do you think I don’t have your measurements memorized, Lamb?”</p>
<p>“Eskel.” Lambert’s voice is as shaky as his hand, but Eskel just hums, pleased, and pulls him into his lap.</p>
<p>“Thank you for letting me give it to you,” he murmurs, right against Lambert’s ear, and Lambert loses his suddenly tenuous control.</p>
<p>When he starts to cry, shaking and gasping, Eskel just hums, soothing, and pets over his back.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>His next gift is a shirt, rather simple in comparison to everything else, but…right, all the same. It’s grey, lighter than the stockings, with black-orange embroidery that matches the color of the wyvern leather pants. The embroidery follows the lace pattern, but it’s even more understated, much simpler where it threads along the open, V-shaped neck, down the long sleeves, and around the fitted wrist. The laces to close the V on it are the same black-orange as the thread, and make the embroidery stand out a little more. It’s made from the same stupidly soft cotton that the garters are, and the thread is the same chort sinew that the rest of the embroidery is.</p>
<p>He’s not really sure why putting it on, switching out an old plain black shirt of Geralt’s, makes him feel so…safe, but he likes it, all the same.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The gift after the shirt is a pair of stays and a plain petticoat, and he starts to see the shape of what Eskel is doing.</p>
<p>He thinks about the amount of effort that has been put into everything so far, and the fact that it’s clearly two separate outfits that he’s receiving in little pieces, both that cater to his desire for pretty things, and it’s…. A little overwhelming, honestly.</p>
<p>But the squirming thing made of guilt and pleasure is more and more pleasure each day.</p>
<p>He picks up the stays and inspects them first. Exactly as plain and simple as one would expect, though the outer satin has been dyed black, probably to match the shift, even if the stays aren’t likely to actually be seen when worn properly under a dress.</p>
<p>Even just looking at it, he can tell it will fit perfectly, and his chest clenches. <em> Do you think I don’t have your measurements memorized, Lamb? </em></p>
<p>He has to put the stays down to get a hold of himself, and in place he studies the petticoat. Also very simple, dyed black and made of soft cotton lawn, though it’s got more decoration in the form of pretty lace at the bottom of each layer. He picks up the lace and thumbs over it to find that it’s silk, and the pattern matches the rest as he’d expected.</p>
<p>It will also fit perfectly, and he realizes rather suddenly that if he doesn’t put them away and go about the rest of his day, he’ll spend the rest of it in his bedroom too flattened by his emotions to move.</p>
<p>So he puts them away, carefully, and leaves his room. Eskel does get a very thorough kiss in thanks after dinner, though.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>After another bad day, he’s surprised to see a gift waiting for him. Eskel is nowhere to be seen, likely out helping Geralt with the horses, but there’s a note, too.</p>
<p>Lambert stays by the door to his bedroom just staring at his bed for a long time.</p>
<p>His fingers twitch, and his skin itches. He feels suddenly trapped, even though he knows he’s not, and he doesn’t – he can’t. He can’t take it. He hasn’t been good today, he <em> hasn’t, </em> and he doesn’t deserve the gift.</p>
<p>
  <em> Any of the gifts. </em>
</p>
<p>“Fuck.”</p>
<p>He bolts out of his room and down, down, into the dungeons, so he can be alone.</p>
<p>It shouldn’t be a shock when, after an hour sitting on the cold, damp stone floor and tearing at his arms where they’re itching, Eskel finds him.</p>
<p>He expects him to be frowning, to be upset or worried or – or…anything negative, but Eskel isn’t anything that he expects. Instead, he’s…entirely neutral, and he just sits across from Lambert and hands him a plate of food before digging in to the one he clearly brought for himself.</p>
<p>Lambert watches him eat.</p>
<p>Eskel, when he finishes his dinner, just watches back.</p>
<p>His skin crawls, still itching, but he doesn’t feel trapped anymore. Just…uncomfortable.</p>
<p>He eats his food, and when Eskel helps him up and leads him back to his room, the gift and its note are gone.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t get any gifts for a few days, after their dinner in the dungeons.</p>
<p>Something tense and anxious in his chest releases.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>When he does get the next gift, he knows it’s because he went out to chop firewood without being asked or reminded that it was his turn. His hands are sore and red from the axe, despite the gloves he’d been wearing, but seeing the new jerkin resting on his bed makes any lingering discomfort fade away.</p>
<p>It’s made from the same wyvern leather as the pants and dyed the same, too, but there’s embroidery on it in pitch-black thread. The pattern matches the shirt from before, but instead of being along the neck or the cut-off sleeves, it’s around the buttonholes, and the buttons make it stand out surprisingly well.</p>
<p>The buttons themselves are whitish, almost more of a very light beige, and have intricate carvings on them. When he picks the jerkin up to inspect them closer, rubbing his thumb over them, he realizes that they’re made of bone. The carvings themselves match the lace, but aren’t the same pattern, and the contrast is…wonderful. Tiny, and almost unnoticeable, but still there. <em> Pretty </em> and <em> delicate </em> and all of the things that Lambert is never associated with, even though sometimes he wants to be.</p>
<p>He has to take several deep, steadying breaths at the sudden realization that Eskel <em> does </em> associate him with those things.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>When Vesemir asks to use one of Lambert’s stills and Lambert says yes, without interrogating their pseudo-father figure any questions, he <em> hears </em> Geralt and Eskel gasp.</p>
<p>His fingers twitch, but he manages to not smile.</p>
<p>That night, there are two gifts in his room. Not <em> on </em> his bed, this time, though it makes him laugh that they aren’t, because Eskel is nothing if not consistent.</p>
<p>The boots are sturdy and heavy, practical, but even so they’re still not ruggedly masculine, and realizing it makes Lambert sag a little in relief. He’s not sure what kind of leather they’re made of, but it’s certainly a monster, because he’s never met a normal animal with skin that thick. It looks like it’s naturally black, too, which doesn’t ring any bells in his head but he’s also not one to pay much attention to the skin color of a monster unless it’s important to the hunt. The boots have the same understated version of the lace pattern painted onto the edges and seams in that same odd black-orange color, and are lined with what feels like fiend fur.</p>
<p>He never realized fiend fur would be so godsdamned soft when it was clean.</p>
<p>The second pair of shoes he’s almost reluctant to call shoes. They’re more like slippers, delicate and soft even though they’re made of monster leather too. This leather has to be the wing leather of something (it’s not wyvern, he’d recognize it) because it’s so thin and flexible, but it’s been dyed emerald green to match the stockings.</p>
<p>He…loves them, honestly. The lace pattern, not the understated version, is painted onto the slippers too, but in proper black. He traces over the delicate lines for a while, just thinking.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m proud of you, you know,” Eskel murmurs into his ear one night. They’re sprawled in a chair front of the hearth in the main room, Geralt a little way away in his own chair. Lambert’s perched on Eskel’s lap and surprisingly comfortable for it, head tucked against Eskel’s neck. “We both are.”</p>
<p>Geralt hums an affirmative. Lambert snorts quietly.</p>
<p>There’s noise in the back of his head, an odd twist to his stomach, but he pushes all of that away. “Thank you,” he says, instead, and Eskel sucks in a breath. It’s soft, probably meant to be subtle, but this close Lambert can hear it as if it had been a shout instead. He nuzzles against Eskel’s jaw, kissing the thin, sensitive skin.</p>
<p>Eskel turns his head and kisses at Lambert’s shoulder, his arms tightening around his waist. Geralt stands, and Eskel murmurs, “Tall wardrobe,” words muffled slightly by Lambert’s shirt and skin.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know what that means, but before he can look to see where Geralt goes or ask, Eskel is pulling him into a deep, passionate kiss, and he stops giving a fuck. He shifts on Eskel’s lap to make the kiss easier, reaching up to hold his jaw. The other hand he rests on Eskel’s chest, liking the way he can feel Eskel’s heart speed slightly as the kiss drags on, how it skips when his teeth catch at Eskel’s lips.</p>
<p>Eventually, though, even Witchers have to breathe, and Eskel breaks the kiss just to pant hotly against Lambert’s throat. Lambert hums and tips his head back, sliding the hand on Eskel’s jaw back until he can bury it into his hair and tug lightly. The growl that rumbles through Eskel’s chest at the little sting makes Lambert shudder.</p>
<p>“Pretty little wolf,” Eskel says, low and rough and adoring. He leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses over Lambert’s throat, along the bottom edge of his jaw. “More than pretty, actually. <em> Beautiful. </em>You’re beautiful.”</p>
<p>Lambert whimpers softly, grip on Eskel’s hair and shirt tightening a little. Geralt comes back with something dark in his arms, and chuckles lightly at the sight of them, but doesn’t seem like he wants to join. Instead, he sets the thing in his arms to the table at the side of their chair, drops a chaste kiss to Lambert’s temple, and leaves again.</p>
<p>“You’ve been so good for me, Lambert,” Eskel continues when he finishes sucking a hickey into Lambert’s pulse point. “It’s been incredible.”</p>
<p>Lambert feels himself flushing. “It’s just…,” he starts, wanting to deflect, but he can’t come up with a decent rebuttal. <em> Just because of the gifts, </em> yeah, of course it is, Eskel did that intentionally. He knows that Eskel won’t see it as a solid argument that he’s not good.</p>
<p>Eskel chuckles and reaches up from Lambert’s waist to cup the back of his skull and tip him forward again, until they can kiss again.</p>
<p>This one is shorter, sweeter, and somehow that leaves Lambert feeling unbalanced but in the best kind of way. When it breaks, though, Eskel steadies him on his lap and then leans away, grabbing whatever it was that Geralt fetched for him.</p>
<p>He pulls it between them, and Lambert realizes that it’s a cloak of some kind. One side is rough, scaly leather, and the inside is soft fur, softer than anything Lambert has ever encountered. He picks it up to inspect it better, and the leather sort of…<em> glitters. </em> He’s caught by it, and as he moves, he realizes that it’s dyed slyzard skin, with the scales left intact so that they still give off iridescent sparkles in direct light.</p>
<p>He gasps, and Eskel chuckles.</p>
<p>“Warg fur, on the inside,” he says, sounding smug. “Hell to get clean, but it’s ridiculously soft, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Lambert agrees, and then the implication in that hits him, and he drops the cloak to fix Eskel with a look. “Hold on, did you – <em> make </em>this? And – the rest?”</p>
<p>Eskel colors slightly. “Some of it. S’not much of anything.”</p>
<p>“Not much of – <em> Eskel, </em>” Lambert groans and grabs his face so he can kiss him, hard and clumsy in his haste.</p>
<p>Eskel grunts but reaches up and adjusts the angle, until the kiss turns into something much, <em> much </em>filthier.</p>
<p>They don’t make it up to bed for a while, the cloak entirely forgotten between them.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The next gift is two gifts, again, one to match each of the outfits Eskel has been slowly giving him. Two pairs of gloves sit on his bed.</p>
<p>They match their paired boots, really. Same leathers, same detailing.</p>
<p>And he knows Eskel knows his measurements, but finding that the gloves fit perfectly, practically molded to his skin in a way he’s never experienced with gloves, really hammers the fact home.</p>
<p>Eskel doesn’t just have his waist and the length of his legs memorized. He has his <em> hands </em> memorized. It’s almost startling, to really understand the depth of Eskel’s knowledge about him in such clear terms.</p>
<p>He finds that he really doesn’t want to take the heavier pair of gloves off. So he doesn’t.</p>
<p>Geralt and Eskel both smile so wide their eyes crinkle when they see it.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> Lambert knows, at this point, that one of the gifts is going to be a dress. It follows logically; he’s been given all of the necessary pieces to wear a dress properly, ergo he should receive a dress as well.</p>
<p>Somehow, that knowledge doesn’t make it any less stunning when he walks into his room to find a frankly gorgeous dress hanging on the front of his wardrobe.</p>
<p>It’s a rather simple dress, shape-wise. A square neckline and long sleeves with gaps and lacing down the sides, a flared skirt that’s slightly shorter in the front than it is in the back, and a clearly defined seam at the waist to separate the top and the skirt.</p>
<p>But simple shape aside, the dress intricate and <em> beautiful </em>. Lambert’s almost afraid to touch it.</p>
<p>The spidersilk it’s made from (and it is spidersilk, because it’s too soft and strong to be anything else, but Lambert isn’t thinking too deeply about it or he’ll fall apart) is dyed the same rich emerald green of the cotton garters, and the lace detailing along the bottom hem and sleeve edges is maroon to match the stockings themselves. There’s the same pattern embroidered into the line of the neck, as well as the seams of the waist and the black center panel of the skirt. When he looks closely, though, he can see the same sort of subtle detail of the stockings in the emerald silk, in the black, too. Slightly darker green and grey just a shade lighter than the black make the same pattern he’s come to recognize, come to love.</p>
<p>When he breathes in, it’s shaky, and he finds that his face is wet. He’s crying.</p>
<p>“Lambert?”</p>
<p>It’s Geralt’s voice. Lambert turns to find him standing just inside the doorway, looking concerned, and Lambert laughs, even though it’s shaky and broken and wet.</p>
<p>“It’s so pretty,” he says, and drags light fingertips over the skirt. “It’s….”</p>
<p>“It’ll look incredible on you,” Geralt says, and Lambert simply cannot let that stand without kissing him, so he doesn’t.</p>
<p>Geralt is grinning into it the whole time, but so is Lambert.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>After he’s given the dress, it seems like the gifts just appear at random, with no correlation to his behavior.</p>
<p>First is a delicate spidersilk lace shawl that fades from black at the top to maroon at the very bottom edge. After that, it’s an equally delicate layered silver necklace accented with wicked-sharp, intricately carved bruxa teeth instead of pendants. From there, he’s given a bracelet made from bone and braided leather, then another to make a matched set; after <em> those, </em> another matched set, both at once this time, back to the silver chain and carved bruxa teeth.</p>
<p>Lambert feels like his heart is going to swell and explode out of his chest each time he finds yet another accessory that’s so perfectly tailored to who he is, who he <em> wants </em>to be.</p>
<p>But despite that, he doesn’t tell Eskel to stop.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>One day, instead of finding yet another gift, he finds a little note. It’s Eskel’s handwriting, less messy than the letter that technically started all of this, but still familiar enough that it makes something inside Lambert feel warm.</p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> Lamb – </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> After dinner on Midwinter, pick an outfit – whatever you want, from the gifts or not – and meet me in the West tower. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> – Eskel </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Lambert’s heart skips a beat. Midwinter is three days away.</p>
<p>He looks over to his wardrobe. He knows exactly what he’ll be wearing already.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>He takes his time getting ready after dinner on Midwinter, despite the heat in his belly that makes him impatient. If Eskel went to all of the trouble to get him so many gifts, he can contain himself long enough to get put together <em> properly. </em></p>
<p>And it will be properly, because while Lambert doesn’t have any physical gifts of his own to present to Eskel, he does have something else he can use for a surprise. The little box is well-hidden in one of the wardrobe drawers, and plain so that even if anyone found it, they wouldn’t consider it terribly interesting. Of course, all of that is mostly for the sake of Lambert’s own paranoia, but he doesn’t think too deeply about that.</p>
<p>Some of the makeup is older, but since most of it is just basic pigment it’s not too hard to get it back into shape. He doesn’t do anything too involved, either, both because he doesn’t have the patience and because he doesn’t feel quite <em> that </em>confident.</p>
<p>He knows Eskel won’t make fun of him, at least, and that’s a comfort.</p>
<p>He sets the box of makeup to the side for now, and sets to getting dressed up. First is the stockings, pulled carefully up to his knees and tied in place with the garters. He admires them for a moment before moving on, studying the intricate embroidery and subtle patterning, as well as petting over the silk to feel just how soft and smooth it is.</p>
<p>Next is all the other underthings: shift, stays, and petticoat. The stays are a little difficult to get on by himself, but a mirror helps, and he manages to tighten it to where it should be and get it settled properly. It doesn’t cinch his waist, but the tabs give that illusion, and the petticoat finishes it. He admires himself in the mirror for a long moment, liking the way the petticoat moves around his legs even with the shift muting the sensation. The quiet sound the lace at the bottom makes as it slides across the silk of his stockings is pleasing, too.</p>
<p>Once he’s taken his fill of the illusion the clothes create, making him look so much softer than he really is, he moves on to the dress. Luckily, the laces of it are on the side, making it rather easy for him to do everything up himself. With the dress on and secured, he sets to adjusting and arranging until it looks perfect; making sure the waist seam sits where it should, pulling the shift sleeves out through the gaps in the dress sleeves until they’re perfect.</p>
<p>The effect of the dress itself is…something else entirely. For a moment, he’s filled with an odd, bubbling glee, and he can’t resist spinning around. The skirt and petticoats flare prettily around his legs, and something inside him settles into place when he comes to a stop, hair a mess around his face. He’s grinning, and he looks so <em> different </em> that for a moment he doesn’t recognize himself in the mirror.</p>
<p>His grin fades. He looks down at the dress, pets over the silk.</p>
<p>
  <em> Too pretty. You’re not good enough for it. </em>
</p>
<p>He frowns, shaking his head. He’s not good at fighting the voice, but he’s a pro at <em> ignoring </em> it, so he does that instead, going back to the table he set the makeup on. He pulls out what he’ll need – just some color for his eyes and lips, really, he’s not interested in much more.</p>
<p>It’s a little difficult to apply the makeup and not get it on the dress, but he knows it would be much more of a mess if he’d put the makeup on before the dress. So he’s just careful, standing bent at a strange angle so he can see into the mirror. It goes quickly, anyway, and soon he’s putting the makeup away and back into its hiding place so he can add the rest of the accessories.</p>
<p>First, he pulls his hair back into a low ponytail, because as much as Eskel likes it, he can only handle it free for short periods after years of taming it with wax. He uses the ribbon Eskel had Marion give him to tie it back, though. And then, after considering for a moment, he decides on the bruxa teeth necklace and the black and maroon shawl. The shawl is meant to match the dress, after all, and there’s something about the bruxa teeth that delights him.</p>
<p>Probably the fact that they’re teeth.</p>
<p>He decides to keep his medallion on, just arranging the other necklace until it looks good. After that, he considers between the bone-and-leather bracelets or the matching bruxa teeth, and ends up deciding on the bone-and-leather. It doesn’t match perfectly, no, but it looks more like <em> him. </em></p>
<p>He picks the boots instead of the slippers for the same reason.</p>
<p>Finally finished dressing, he arranges the shawl around his shoulders and heads to the West tower.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Despite all attempts to ignore the nasty little voice in his head, Lambert has to fight off nerves the entire climb to the tower room. He manages to do it until he’s at the door, and suddenly he feels frozen, hand hovering at the doorknob.</p>
<p>Eskel has to know he’s here, it’s not as if he was being quiet on his way up, but….</p>
<p>He takes a deep, deep breath, forces the thoughts of running away down until he can’t hear the nasty voice anymore, and slowly opens the door.</p>
<p>The tower room has been completely transformed. He’d expected it would look different, but this is…a lot. There are candles everywhere around the edges of the room, on the floor or grouped together on old chests or little tables Eskel probably dug up from the old classrooms. Others are inside hanging lanterns. The sheer volume of the candles has lit up the room almost as well as a hearth would.</p>
<p>Aside from the candles, though, there’s a massive sort of nest in the middle of the room, dozens of blankets and pillows piled together until they form something that could be loosely called a bed. Eskel is standing next to it, fiddling with something Lambert can’t see, but he’s turning as soon as the door is open enough for Lambert to step through.</p>
<p>He feels as if the boots are over-loud on the stone floor, echoing around oddly, but that could just be in his head. He closes the door behind him and then steps into the room properly, fighting the urge to fidget.</p>
<p>When he finally looks up from the makeshift bed, Eskel looks like someone has whacked him over the head with a rock, minus the blood and general violence. His eyes are wide, pupils blown wider than the light in the room calls for, and his mouth is dropped open.</p>
<p>“What?” Lambert snaps, tone falling a little short of the sharpness he was aiming for. He mostly sounds…vulnerable.</p>
<p>Eskel’s mouth moves as he clearly struggles to find words. Lambert starts to fidget slightly, twisting his fingers lightly into the skirt of his dress. He fights the urge to look around, but can’t keep his eyes on Eskel’s face; instead, he looks at his chest, where his medallion is resting.</p>
<p>Finally, Eskel manages to say, “<em> Lamb, </em>” but nothing else.</p>
<p>Even still, the tone in his voice saps the tension from Lambert’s shoulders. He sounds <em> awed. </em> Lambert knows it’s foolish to have expected anything else, Eskel has never been anything more than entirely accepting, and all of this is from Eskel, but…. Well, just <em> but. </em> Anxiety doesn’t have to make sense, and rarely does, in his experience. Even the anxiety that makes sense tends to crop up in places that it shouldn’t.</p>
<p>“Eskel,” he replies, and glances back to Eskel’s face. He still looks awestruck, but instead of gaping, now he’s smiling, and Lambert’s stomach flips pleasantly.</p>
<p>He’s so handsome when he smiles. Lambert untwists his fingers from his skirts and smooths the silk down, shifting the lay of the fabric a bit before he takes a tentative step forward.</p>
<p>Eskel practically rushes forward to meet him. “Lamb,” he repeats, just as enthralled as the first time, and wraps his arms tightly around Lambert’s waist. Lambert gasps softly and lets himself tip into Eskel’s chest, throwing his own arms around Eskel’s neck. Eskel presses their foreheads together.</p>
<p>“You look incredible,” he says after a moment.</p>
<p>Lambert feels a flush rise to his cheeks and tries to hide it by tipping his head up for a kiss. Eskel responds easily, but when one of his hands slides up from Lambert’s waist to his cheek, thumb caressing lightly, he knows he failed to hide.</p>
<p>The kiss is good enough he doesn’t mind too much, though. Eskel is soft and warm and tastes of dinner, of spices and mint leaves and vodka. Of <em> home. </em> His hand is calloused but gentle as he cups Lambert’s jaw and tilts his head to deepen the kiss. Lambert sighs into it, lets himself sink forward, and Eskel’s arm slides more fully around his waist to hold him up, fingers tangling into the laces at Lambert’s side.</p>
<p>“I don’t even have words,” Eskel murmurs, lips sliding from Lambert’s mouth to his chin and along his jaw, down his throat. “I just…. <em> Fuck, </em> Lamb.”</p>
<p>“All because of you,” Lambert mumbles, tipping his head to the side and shuddering at the feeling of stubble rasping against his throat. “It’s…. Melitele’s sake, Eskel, I – ”</p>
<p>“You deserve it,” Eskel cuts him off, apparently anticipating the direction of that sentence. He shifts to pull Lambert impossibly closer and buries his nose against his throat, inhaling deeply. His next words are muffled by Lambert’s collar, but he hears them all the same. “Deserve the fucking world, Lamb. Least I could do is some pretty clothes.”</p>
<p> Lambert snorts, shifting to grip at Eskel’s hair and tug lightly. “More than just pretty clothes,” he says. “You…almost all of this is <em> monster </em>, Eskel. You took what we do and made it pretty. Somehow.”</p>
<p>Eskel tips his head up to catch Lambert’s eye, and he’s smiling again, almost more of a smirk. “I think it’s you making it pretty,” he says, moving so he can stroke along Lambert’s side, from armpit to hip, hand rasping lightly over the silk. Lambert shivers, lashes fluttering a little at the heat he can feel even through three layers.</p>
<p>“Shut up,” he mutters, weakly, and kisses Eskel again. Eskel laughs into his mouth but kisses back.</p>
<p>He loses track of time like that, kissing Eskel while Eskel’s hands start to wander; first over his neck, his shoulders, then down his chest and back, feeling out the shape of his thigh underneath the layers of silk and petticoat and shift. Lambert presses closer, lifting his leg to hook around Eskel’s thigh, and gets a soft, rumbling sound in reward. Fuck, but he’s already hard from a few kisses and sweet words and gentle touches.</p>
<p>At least Eskel seems to be in the same boat, his hips jerking forward when Lambert presses in.</p>
<p>“You’re beautiful,” Eskel mumbles, trailing open-mouthed kisses down Lambert’s throat again, the hint of teeth making Lambert’s fingers spasm against his shoulder and in his hair. “Just – fucking <em> gorgeous. </em>I didn’t know…. I knew you’d look good, fuck, you’d look good in a burlap sack, but – ”</p>
<p>Heat flares in Lambert’s belly, and he gasps softly, letting his head fall back so Eskel has better access to the spot he’s nibbling at. “But?” he asks, not even sure if he wants to, but the word tumbles out all the same.</p>
<p>“But I didn’t know,” Eskel continues, a little quieter. “Fuck, I don’t – I can’t even describe it. You look like<em> you, </em> Lamb, you look <em> perfect, </em> and I – <em> fuck, </em> I wish I could give you <em> more. </em>” He follows the words with a proper bite, just enough to sting, and Lambert arches into the pressure, hips jerking even though it’s practically impossible to get friction like this. A whine tumbles out of him when Eskel sucks at the marks of his teeth, settling the bruise deeper.</p>
<p>“<em> Eskel, </em>” he breathes, and Eskel drags his mouth back up, until they’re kissing again. It’s messier now, more passion than finesse, and Lambert drops his hitched leg so he can bring his arms down to start pushing at Eskel’s shirt.</p>
<p>Eskel chuckles into his mouth and reaches down to shove Lambert’s hands away. He makes an offended noise, but before he can gather his wits and snap, Eskel is gone. Or, not <em> gone. </em></p>
<p>He’s kneeling at Lambert’s feet, mouth red and kiss-bitten, eyes practically black, and Lambert feels his heart trip over several beats before it speeds up. “Fuck.”</p>
<p>Eskel smirks. His hands slip under the skirts of the dress, under the petticoat, until he can grasp at Lambert’s shins and squeeze. Lambert’s dick jumps, leaking precome all over the inside of the shift, and he shudders at the thought. Eskel, for his part, purrs and slides his hands up, careful over the garters around Lambert’s knees but rougher when he hits the skin of Lambert’s thighs.</p>
<p>“Eskel,” Lambert pants, tipping his head back. He can’t handle the sight of it, Eskel on his knees and feeling up under his dress, it’s just – <em> so much. </em></p>
<p>“I almost don’t even want to take you out of it,” Eskel murmurs, pressing a little closer and dropping a kiss to Lambert’s hip through the dress. “You look so fucking good.”</p>
<p>Lambert reaches down, ignoring the way his fingers are trembling slightly to push them through Eskel’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. Eskel shudders, knees shifting, and presses into the touch.</p>
<p>“Don’t want to ruin the dress,” Lambert says, half-serious and half-teasing. Eskel hums, forehead pressed to Lambert’s hip now, hands still wrapped tight and warm around Lambert’s thighs.</p>
<p>“Me either,” Eskel mumbles after a moment of letting Lambert scratch his head. “Guess I’ll just have to be careful, hm?”</p>
<p>Lambert doesn’t get a chance to ask before Eskel is pulling back and ducking down, lifting everything with his arms so he can shift <em> under </em>it, sliding his hands from the front of Lambert’s thighs to the back to pull him in. He stumbles with a little cry, short and sharp, and barely catches himself on Eskel’s shoulders. The silk nearly slides his grip straight off, but he manages to twist enough and get a proper hold.</p>
<p>“Eskel,” he gasps, nearly giddy as the rush of it swoops through him. Eskel makes a sound in reply, a cross between a grunt and a hum, and presses a kiss to the crease of Lambert’s thigh, so close that his hair tickles Lambert’s balls. This time, when he gasps out, “<em> Eskel, </em>” it’s breathless and desperate.</p>
<p>The kisses continue, Eskel hunching to trail them down and in, teeth scraping lightly over the sensitive skin of Lambert’s inner thighs. Lambert shudders and starts pulling at the dress and everything under it so he can get a proper grip on Eskel’s shoulders, knees wobbling a little. The shawl falls off in the process, but he ignores that. Eskel chuckles, more of a vibration than a sound, and wraps one arm around Lambert’s ass, petting over his skin and leaving goosebumps in his wake.</p>
<p>“You smell good,” Eskel says, muffled by all the fabric and how his lips are pressed against Lambert’s thigh. “Could spend the rest of our lives right here, Lamb, and die happy.”</p>
<p>Lambert <em> squeaks. </em> “Eskel,” he says, and it’s not a whine but only barely. “Fuck, please.”</p>
<p>There’s a muffled laugh, but then Eskel’s kisses are trailing back up his thighs. The heat of his breath over Lambert’s balls makes his knees wobble again, and his fingers dig into Eskel’s shoulders hard enough he’s certain there will be bruises later.</p>
<p>Just the thought of that makes Lambert hiss, cock twitching and tapping against Eskel’s cheek. Eskel chuckles again, dragging his lips over the skin of Lambert’s balls before flicking his tongue out against them, nothing more than a flash of wet heat. Lambert trembles in the wake of it.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” he babbles, fingers clenching. “Fuck, please, <em> please. </em>”</p>
<p>He feels more than hears Eskel hum, and then the wet heat of his tongue is back, tracing a line along the base of Lambert’s cock until he reaches the head. There, the teasing continues, little flashes of touch that make Lambert tremble, cock drooling. When Eskel’s tongue drags over his slit, clearing the mess, he moans, and Lambert distantly hears seams creaking – Eskel’s shirt, probably, where he’s twisted his fingers into it in a vicious attempt to stay standing.</p>
<p>“<em> Please, </em>” he gasps again, and Eskel finally seems to take mercy.</p>
<p>As much as sucking the head of Lambert’s cock into his mouth and moaning around it can be considered mercy, especially when Lambert’s knees wobble their hardest yet. Eskel just wraps both his arms around Lambert, hands grasping tight at his hips, and holds him steady.</p>
<p>The rush of being so securely held, layered over the searing pleasure of Eskel’s mouth, making Lambert whimper. His grip is too tight on Eskel’s shoulders, but he can barely even breathe, much less gentle the touch. And Eskel isn’t complaining.</p>
<p>Far from it, actually, he’s moaning like he’s being <em> paid </em> while he works his way down Lambert’s cock, all soft, wet heat and suction. Lambert shakes and whines, hips shifting restlessly the little they can.</p>
<p>Eskel pulls off for a moment. “Go on,” he says, almost more of a growl, lips still close enough Lambert can feel them move. “Take what you want.”</p>
<p>“<em> Eskel, </em> ” Lambert groans, sliding his hand up from Eskel’s shoulder to the nape of his neck. Eskel just makes a low, pleased little sound, and bobs back down onto his cock. “Ah, <em> fuck. </em>”</p>
<p>Planting his feet as best he can, still gripping Eskel’s shoulder and neck, he rolls his hips again. Eskel allows the movement, follows it, lets Lambert’s cock sink deeper into his mouth. He doesn’t move very fast – doesn’t want to, and he really <em> can’t, </em> not if he wants to keep his balance – but even still, the rhythm of it and the noises…. Eskel is moaning around him, loud and unashamed despite how muffled it is, tongue twisting in a way that sends sparks showering down Lambert’s spine.</p>
<p>“Fuck, <em> fuck, </em> Eskel,” he pants, eyes squeezed shut. Slowly, with the encouragement of Eskel’s hands on his hips, he starts to move a little deeper, still at the same slow pace. Eskel moans for it, bobbing his head along in counterpoint and flexing his tongue, grip on Lambert’s hips just as bruising as Lambert’s on him.</p>
<p>Time seems to slow and lose it’s meaning again, just like earlier – just like <em> always, </em>with Eskel. Lambert pants and whimpers as the pleasure spirals tighter and tighter in his belly, legs and belly trembling, cock throbbing in Eskel’s mouth. He doesn’t know how long it goes on, Eskel tucked on his knees under Lambert’s skirts as Lambert gently fucks his face, but Eskel is greedy for it, moaning and grunting with each thrust.</p>
<p>Eventually, though, Lambert can feel the way his stomach tightens, the twitch in his thighs that means he’s right on edge. For a moment he can’t even say anything, panting wildly and trying very, <em> very </em> hard not to dig his nails into Eskel’s neck, but finally he’s able to gasp out, “ <em> Close. </em>”</p>
<p>He expects Eskel to pull back, to let him calm down, but it doesn’t happen. Instead, Eskel hums around him and sucks harder, backing off a little to focus on the head of him, tongue digging into his slit.</p>
<p>He’s suddenly able to find his voice, then. “<em> Fuck, </em> fuck, Eskel, shit, I’m – <em> ah, ah, </em> ” a particular twist of Eskel’s tongue wipes the words from his brain, “ <em> fuck, </em> Eskel, please.”</p>
<p>The only response he gets is another rumbling hum, and Eskel’s arms squeezing around him. Of all things, <em> that </em> knocks him off the edge with a shuddering, stunned gasp.</p>
<p>“<em> Eskel, </em> ” he whimpers, knees buckling as he tips forward a little. Eskel catches him but doesn’t pause in his ministrations, even as Lambert’s little aborted twitches make a mess of him, of the <em> both </em> of them. Lambert can’t even see straight when his eyes flutter open, everything a hazy blur of black and color as he shivers and twitches, pleasure whiting out his other senses except for what he can hear and feel of Eskel. “Ah, <em> ah, </em> shit.”</p>
<p>When he finally pulls off, just as Lambert’s getting too sensitive to handle it, Eskel chuckles. He ducks out from under Lambert’s skirts, careful not to brush against them, and settles back on his heels, but keeps a good grip on Lambert’s hips to keep him upright. Lambert is still shivering, but tries to support most of his own weight, petting gently over where he’s been gripping at Eskel’s shoulders and neck.</p>
<p>Eskel looks a mess, hair ruffled from being under all those layers and chin smeared with spit and cum. Lambert whines at the sight of him, whines some more when Eskel takes one hand off of Lambert’s hips to wipe up the mess and suck it off his fingers.</p>
<p>“Tastes good,” Eskel murmurs. Lambert groans and swats at him weakly.</p>
<p>“Tease,” Lambert mutters, and Eskel just laughs, squeezing his hip before he pulls back and stands in one fluid motion. Just as gracefully, though, he’s pulling Lambert back into his arms, hands around his waist as if he really is the kind of damsel the dress almost implies.</p>
<p>“Only because you like it,” he says as he leans close.</p>
<p>The kiss they share is messy, Eskel’s lips swollen and hot and Lambert’s coordination shot through, but it’s good all the same. Lambert chases the taste of himself into Eskel’s mouth, groaning when Eskel’s grip on his waist tightens. He wriggles one hand between them to palm at the bulge in Eskel’s breeches, reveling in the way Eskel presses forward and growls into the kiss.</p>
<p>“Want more,” Lambert mumbles when the kiss breaks. “Want <em> you. </em>”</p>
<p>“Lambert,” Eskel hisses, tilting his head to trail a series of bites along Lambert’s throat. He tips his head back to give him room and squeezes lightly just to hear the way Eskel growls again.</p>
<p>One of Eskel’s hands slides up and starts to tug at the lacing of the dress. Lambert shifts his arm up, resting it on Eskel’s shoulder, to give him room to work. The motion pushes them closer together, and Lambert takes the opportunity to bite and suck at Eskel’s collar, his neck, his ear. Eskel just makes a low, encouraging sound against Lambert’s shoulder and pulls at the lacing of the dress faster.</p>
<p>When it’s loose enough, Lambert takes a half-step back so it can be pulled off. Eskel folds it carefully over his arm before turning and draping it just as gently over a nearby table that’s both free of candles and out of the path of any of the ones lying around. While he does that, Lambert sets to trying to undo the lacing of the stays himself, fumbling a little since he can’t see what he’s doing with his hands.</p>
<p>Eskel turns back and stops him, though.</p>
<p>“Let me.”</p>
<p>Lambert huffs, pretending to be annoyed – judging by Eskel’s smirk, he doesn’t buy it – and lets his hands fall back to his sides as he turns around. He expects Eskel to start tugging at the laces of the stays immediately, but instead those large, warm hands land on his neck, thumbs rubbing at the perpetual knot at the top of his spine. He doesn’t bother to try and muffle the sigh of relief, letting his head fall forward a little when Eskel presses harder.</p>
<p>“Always so tense,” Eskel murmurs, hands sliding along Lambert’s shoulders, down his arms. Lambert catches them and tangles their fingers together, bringing them up so he can kiss Eskel’s knuckles. Eskel just chuckles softly. “Should start giving you massages.”</p>
<p>“Don’t tempt me,” Lambert murmurs, shifting back so he can lean against Eskel’s chest. He’ll have to move again in a moment, of course, to get the stays and the rest of his clothes off, but that’s fine. Getting to feel Eskel’s strength and heat for even a moment is worth it.</p>
<p>Eskel huffs, nosing at Lambert’s temple before kissing the shell of his ear. “I would,” he murmurs. “If you’d like.”</p>
<p>Lambert turns his head, tilting up to catch Eskel’s mouth. It’s a brief kiss, because the angle is bad and Lambert has something to say, but even so it sends heat down his spine at how readily Eskel responds to him. “What if I’d like right now?”</p>
<p>Eskel brushes his nose against Lambert’s. “Of course.” A chaste kiss is pressed to the corner of his mouth, before Eskel untangles their fingers and settles his hands on Lambert’s waist, just above the tabs of the stays. “Even just this looks so good on you, Lamb. You’re stunning.”</p>
<p>Lambert shivers and pushes his face against Eskel’s, almost a nuzzle. Eskel chuckles and nudges him back before pulling away just enough to slide his hands around to the lacing at the back of the stays. Despite the bulk of Eskel’s hands, his fingers are nimble, and he has the lacing undone quickly; Lambert helps him pull the stays off, and turns to watch as he places it on top of the dress with the exact same amount of care from before.</p>
<p>He could get out of the rest himself while Eskel fusses, of course. He usually would, to speed up the process, but he finds that despite his pouting earlier with the stays, he…really doesn’t want to. He kind of likes having Eskel undress him like this.</p>
<p>It seems that Eskel feels the same, as he’s smiling when he steps back, hands returning to Lambert’s waist as if pulled there by some arcane force. Before he can get back to the undressing, though, Lambert leans up and kisses him. This kiss is slow, almost tentative; Lambert can still taste himself on Eskel’s tongue, though, and it’s enough to make him shudder. Eskel just pets up his side as if he’s calming a skittish animal and sucks at Lambert’s bottom lip.</p>
<p> “Distracting,” Eskel murmurs when Lambert finally pulls back. Lambert just winks, and tugs at the waistband of the petticoat resting under Eskel’s hands.</p>
<p>He gets an eyeroll for it, but Eskel helps him step out of it, leaving him in the shift, stockings, and boots. He’s sure it probably looks a little ridiculous, but when Eskel turns back and sees him his mouth drops open the same way it did when Lambert <em> first </em> walked in.</p>
<p>“What?” he asks, again, though he sounds more teasing this time.</p>
<p>Eskel rolls his eyes skyward as if looking for strength from the gods and steps closer again. “What I said earlier, about you looking good in a burlap sack? Fucking hells, Lamb, you’re too godsdamned <em> pretty. </em> No matter what.”</p>
<p>“Even covered in monster guts and blood?” Lambert teases, and shivers lightly when Eskel’s eyes darken.</p>
<p>“You know the answer to that, you menace,” he murmurs, and starts to pull at the shift, clearly beginning to get impatient.</p>
<p>Lambert laughs and struggles out of the soft linen, taking it before Eskel can turn to be gentle with it and tossing it onto the other side of the nest, where there aren’t any candles. It leaves him standing naked except for the stockings and boots, and Eskel rolls his eyes at the antics but doesn’t try to be subtle with his once-over. Lambert feels like maybe he should have a little bit more shame, but he…doesn’t.</p>
<p>“Too bad I won’t let you wear your boots into bed like a heathen,” Eskel says, smirking. “Because <em> this </em> is probably the best look so far.”</p>
<p>“Oh, fuck you,” Lambert laughs. Eskel just shakes his head and goes back to his knees, this time in a more innocent fashion.</p>
<p>Lambert’s thoughts about it aren’t innocent at <em> all, </em>though. Eskel behaves himself, removing Lambert’s boots and the stockings and garters with care, but from the look in his eyes, he’s not thinking so innocently either. Lambert threads a hand through his hair just to watch his lashes flutter in response. In retaliation, Eskel leans forward and bites his hip.</p>
<p>As if that would deter Lambert at all. Proving his thoughts, his cock twitches eagerly at the sting, and Eskel huffs.</p>
<p>The boots get left on the floor, and Eskel leans around to grab the shawl before he tosses it and the stockings in the direction of the shift. Lambert has just enough time to be a little shocked by that before Eskel is wrapping thick arms around Lambert’s waist and turning to tumble him into the nest.</p>
<p>He can’t help the yelp it knocks out of him, but the pile of blankets and pillows must have a better base than he’d assumed because it’s a soft landing. He scrambles onto his back and leans up on his hands, ready to reprimand Eskel, but finds the other Witcher standing again as he strips out of his own clothes.</p>
<p>Well, if he’s going to get a show, he might as well enjoy it. He scoots back a little, then settles comfortably onto his elbows to watch. Eskel isn’t exactly teasing, but he’s not going terribly <em> fast, </em>either, and Lambert finds himself making soft little noises with each bit of skin revealed, until Eskel is as naked as him and dropping to his knees on the nest to prowl toward him.</p>
<p>As soon as he’s close enough, Lambert reaches out and grabs him by the back of his neck, yanking him forward so he sprawls over Lambert’s body and kissing him.</p>
<p>Eskel grunts but doesn’t bother doing much more than shifting his legs and kissing back, heedless of Lambert’s lack of anything that could be called finesse. Their teeth click together more than once, and it knocks a breathless laugh out of them both each time. Lambert wraps his legs around Eskel’s hips and rolls his body up into the pressure.</p>
<p>“Thought you wanted a massage,” Eskel says when they finally do have to break apart to breathe. Even still, his hips roll in counterpart of Lambert’s, the friction distracting enough that Lambert takes a moment to reply, giggling breathlessly.</p>
<p>“Changed my mind,” he says. “Want you more.”</p>
<p>“Oh really?”</p>
<p>“You can give me a massage after.”</p>
<p>Eskel snorts and dips forward to kiss him again. “Greedy,” he teases, but he levers himself up onto his knees, petting over Lambert’s shins as he shoves his legs down and leans over to the side. Lambert turns to see him digging a bottle of oil out of the pillows and spreads his legs further. When Eskel leans back and catches sight of it, he groans.</p>
<p>“Gods, Lamb,” he mutters, ducking forward again. Lambert leans up and meets him halfway for yet another kiss, barely feeling the oil bottle when Eskel drops it at his side and surges into it.</p>
<p>His legs end up wrapped around Eskel’s hips again, pressing them together from their hips to their chests. One of Eskel’s hands sinks into Lambert’s hair where it’s still somehow pulled back, tugging lightly, and Lambert whines right into his mouth, hips jerking. Eskel just rolls his hips in response, grinding their cocks together; Lambert whines again, breaking the kiss to press his head back into Eskel’s palm and pant.</p>
<p>Eskel chuckles and ducks further down to kiss and bite at Lambert’s throat, tugging gently at his hair again as he does, and Lambert reaches up to bury both of his hands into Eskel’s hair. He just moans against Lambert’s throat and sucks a livid mark where his teeth have left little indents.</p>
<p>“Fuck, Eskel,” Lambert gasps, thighs spasming witch each roll of their hips. “<em> Fuck. </em>”</p>
<p>“’S the plan,” Eskel mutters. “You’re just fucking <em> distracting, </em> gods.”</p>
<p>Lambert laughs breathlessly, cutting off into a moan when Eskel bites at a sensitive spot along his collar. “Maybe you’re just – <em> oh </em>– easy to distract?”</p>
<p>Eskel snorts, tugging at Lambert’s hair again, hard enough to properly sting this time. Lambert just moans and squeezes Eskel’s hips between his thighs. “Brat,” Eskel mutters, but there’s no bite to the word and it’s followed immediately by a filthy kiss, so Lambert just grins against his mouth.</p>
<p>Eventually Eskel manages to pull back and escape the grip of Lambert’s legs, though with clear effort. Lambert giggles and lets his legs sprawl. Half reclined on the mound of pillows that make up the top of the nest, legs spread and one hand on his belly with the other above him, he knows he looks like a smug asshole, but Eskel gives him a slow, thorough once over and swallows hard all the same.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” he mutters, and snags the oil still resting against Lambert’s hip. He nearly fumbles it as he opens it, but Lambert bites back his teasing in the interest of not <em> distracting </em> him again.</p>
<p>He’s getting more and more impatient by the second, here. No reason to prolong it any longer when they’re <em> both </em> like this. Even if it is fun to get Eskel flustered.</p>
<p>The first press of a slick finger to his hole makes him sigh, head tipping back. He rolls his whole body toward the pressure and smiles when he hears the barely cut-off curse Eskel gives at the sight. He does it again, and this time Eskel shifts forward to practically gnaw at his hip.</p>
<p>Lambert just moans for it, thigh twitching. “<em> Eskel. </em>”</p>
<p>“<em> Brat, </em> ” Eskel mutters again, but that finger is finally sinking into him, and Lambert doesn’t <em> care </em> what Eskel calls him.</p>
<p>At this point in the winter, one finger isn’t much of a stretch, but it feels good all the same, heat creeping up his spine to pool in his stomach, his chest. Eskel doesn’t waste any time, either, pushing a second finger in alongside the first before Lambert even starts to beg.</p>
<p>“Ah, fuck, yes,” Lambert hisses, cock jumping at the light burn of it. Eskel just grunts, some kind of acknowledgement, and bends to drag his tongue across the head of his cock. Lambert jolts, whining, and Eskel does it again, and again, and <em> again, </em>until Lambert’s thighs are trembling and he’s whimpering near-continuously. All the while, Eskel doesn’t stop fingering him open, two fingers turning into three without Lambert even noticing until they sink into him and rub against his prostate.</p>
<p>“<em> Ah! </em> ” Lambert nearly swallows his fucking tongue at the sudden spike of sensation, entire core tensing for a split second before Eskel lets off and he melts back into the nest. “ <em> Fuck, </em> Eskel, please.”</p>
<p>Eskel just hums, lips still pressed to Lambert’s cock, and moves his fingers faster. Lambert keens and arches up, hands clenching hard enough into parts of the nest that something rips. He distantly notes the sound but doesn’t bother to think any further about it, as Eskel chooses that moment to suck the head of his cock into his mouth and rub over his prostate again.</p>
<p>The flare of pleasure from both sensations is near painful; it’s so much, and Lambert makes a choked off sound like a sob, one hand flailing weakly toward Eskel’s head. He’s not really sure if he’s trying to stop him or make him keep going, but either way Eskel pays him no mind and continues, and Lambert’s head starts to spin.</p>
<p>“Fuck, fuck, <em> fuck. </em>”</p>
<p>He’s gasping, tension winding tighter and tighter the longer Eskel keeps it up, until he’s <em> forced </em> off the edge. It’s like a punch to the sternum and he shouts; the only reason his hips don’t jerk wildly is because Eskel grabs them with his free hand, grip like an iron bar. All the same, Lambert squirms wildly as it spirals through him, vision gone sparkling and colorful even behind his eyelids. “ <em> Eskel, </em> fuck.”</p>
<p>When he finally settles back down, eyes fluttering open, Eskel is watching him with a hungry look, fingers still buried in Lambert’s body. He groans and clenches around them, shaking at the sharp flare of aftershock.</p>
<p>“<em> Please. </em> ” He feels wrung out and shaky and so fucking <em> good </em> and he wants more, wants Eskel closer and inside him properly.</p>
<p>Eskel just makes a low, wanting sound, and fumbles for the oil again to slick his cock. He’s moving quickly, practically sloppy, and Lambert just whines pleadingly, trying to goad him into somehow moving faster. He manages to hook one leg around Eskel’s back and pull him forward, and Eskel laughs breathlessly before coming, letting himself fall forward. He catches himself on his elbows but the motion still puts him close enough that Lambert can feel his heart pounding, almost matched with the frantic pace Lambert’s has picked up.</p>
<p>He wraps his legs back around Eskel’s hips. Eskel shifts and the head of his cock drags over the crease of Lambert’s thigh; they both shudder and whine. Lambert barely manages to keep his eyes open but finds the struggle is worth it to watch Eskel bite his lip bloodless. He shifts a little, tips his hips up, and whimpers at the press of Eskel’s cock against his hole. Close but not where he needs it, not <em> quite </em>.</p>
<p>“Kel,” he whispers, and Eskel moves. One of his hands snags Lambert’s, tangles their fingers together while the other sinks into his hair again, grip tight enough to hold Lambert’s head still. Their foreheads pressed together, and Lambert is certain he’s cross-eyed, trying to see Eskel’s face so close to his, but he doesn’t even care.</p>
<p>“Lamb,” Eskel whispers back, brushing their noses together.</p>
<p>Lambert sucks in a breath at the sudden tenderness. It’s not as if Eskel was being particularly rough before – he never usually is, unless Lambert explicitly <em> asks </em> – but the mood has shifted into something deeper. Almost like the night Eskel gave him the shift, but less fraught. Lambert still feels like crying, but for entirely different reasons.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” he murmurs, not even really sure what he’s thanking Eskel for, but Eskel doesn’t question it, just brushes their noses together again.</p>
<p>“Thank <em> you, </em>” he replies, just as soft. He takes his hand from Lambert’s hair for just long enough to guide his cock, and then it’s back, just as he pushes inside.</p>
<p>Lambert doesn’t even make a noise; his breath stutters out of him silently, matching Eskel’s as they press toward each other instinctually. Eskel tilts his head, just a little, and their lips meet. It’s a mess of a kiss, interrupted by the way they’re both panting, but Lambert wouldn’t pull away even if the tower went up in flames around them. He could absolutely die like this, and it would be a <em> blessing. </em></p>
<p>Eskel moves slowly, just rolling his hips at first; tiny, grinding thrusts that make Lambert’s breathing hitch again and again until he has to break their mockery of a kiss just so he can get any air at all. Eskel makes a soft sound, something soothing, and shifts to press gentle, open-mouthed kisses over his face, his chin and his cheek and his eyelids, along the shell of his ear, down his neck. Lambert squeezes his hands, one tangled with Eskel’s and the other tangled up in the hair at the nape of his neck, mirroring Eskel’s hold on him.</p>
<p>For several minutes there’s nothing but that, silence only broken by their breathing and the gentle shifting of their bodies against the bedding. He can even hear the quiet crackle of the candles, if he strains his ears a little. And then, because this moment isn’t overwhelming enough, Eskel starts to speak.</p>
<p>His voice is soft, barely even a breath, but pressed so close together Lambert hears everything as if it’s being shouted. It certainly <em> feels </em> like it’s being shouted, considering how much his chest burns as he listens.</p>
<p>“I’m not exaggerating when I call you perfect, Lamb, not even a little bit. Gods, you’re – you’re <em> magnificent. </em> Despite everything, <em> everything, </em> you’re still sweet, you still love so <em> much. </em>”</p>
<p>“Eskel,” Lambert mumbles, weakly, legs squeezing tighter around him. Eskel hums and brushes his lips over Lambert’s throat, just to trail more kisses up the opposite side of his neck.</p>
<p>“I can’t believe how lucky we are you have you, sometimes,” Eskel continues, breath hot on Lambert’s ear. He hasn’t stopped rolling his hips, the movements lengthening now, and Lambert makes a weak, shuddering sound. “It feels like it shouldn’t even be real. You’re…you’re just…. I don’t even have the words for it. You’re deadly, one of the best Witchers I’ve ever known, but you’re <em> delicate, </em> too – letting us see the soft parts of you that survived, that you held onto with a willpower I’m in <em> constant </em>awe of.”</p>
<p>At the word <em> delicate, </em> Lambert feels the tears spill over. His breath hitches again, and Eskel untangles his hand from Lambert’s hair to wipe the tears away from his temple, his lips catching the ones on the other side.</p>
<p>“I see how much it hurts, sometimes, how much <em> you </em> hurt,” Eskel says, lips moving warm and wet against Lambert’s cheek, his jaw, his forehead. “But you’re not what they say you are. You’re not what anyone says you are, not even <em> me, </em> you’re just – you’re <em> you, </em> and I love all of you so much, every single part. No matter how much you hate it, hate yourself, hate <em> anything </em> about you – I love it all. Because it’s you, because you’ve fought so hard, because you’ve <em> won. </em>”</p>
<p>Lambert gasps, makes a sound somewhere between a moan and a sob as Eskel moves faster, now cupping Lambert’s jaw as if he’s something fragile, something worth treasuring, lips still trailing those same kisses all over his face and neck and shoulders. Anywhere Eskel can reach without putting any space between them.</p>
<p>“Even if it doesn’t feel like winning, every single time you keep going, come home and rest, go back to the Path in the spring – every single thing you do that isn’t collapsing under the weight of it all, it’s enough. More than enough. Surviving is worth so much more than the weight you put on it; every time I get to see you, touch you, hold you like this – every time you let me in I’m reminded of how <em> empty </em> everything would be without it. I see you and I see home. You, not the keep, not anything else – <em> you. </em> You’re home.”</p>
<p>Lambert tries to speak, tries to say anything, to give Eskel what he deserves – the same kind of pretty prose, the devotion – but all that comes out is a shivery little sob, something broken wide open. Eskel’s mouth finally comes back to his, and the kiss is even more tender than the rest, Eskel’s mouth moving slow and gentle and <em> intentional. </em> Lambert can’t help the way he’s clinging to Eskel, whimpering softly into the kiss as they move together, all of it entirely secondary to Eskel’s mouth and the feelings resonating through Lambert’s chest.</p>
<p>“You’re <em> home </em> ,” Eskel repeats, achingly sincere, and Lambert sobs again, wants to reply, wants to tell Eskel <em> so are you, so are you, </em> but he can’t find the air or his voice. All he can do is pant and sob and cling, every nerve on fire as everything between them climbs higher and higher and <em> higher. </em> “I love you, Lambert, exactly as you are. Whatever you want to be.”</p>
<p>It feels like Lambert’s body <em> becomes </em> light. He gasps, high and sharp, and Eskel kisses him again, just as pointed as before, just as <em> meaningful, </em> and everything whites out like he’s looking directly into the sunrise.</p>
<p>The last thing he knows is Eskel shivering and sighing, the sound sweet and relieved. He gives into the light right alongside.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Lambert whines at the feeling of being moved. Eskel chuckles, but it’s soft and distant, as if he’s far away. He rolls his head to the side and fights heavy lids, finally squinting his eyes open to see Eskel leaning over him, a gentle smile on his lips. Not far away, then.</p>
<p>His body feels like it’s full of lead, but still he reaches up and traces light fingertips over Eskel’s scars. “Handsome,” he mumbles. Eskel turns his head into the touch and kisses his palm, the faintest blush rising to his unmarred cheek.</p>
<p>“Need to get you cleaned up, sweetheart,” Eskel murmurs, lips still against Lambert’s palm. He shifts, and Lambert realizes that his arm is under his shoulders, propping him up slightly. Another shift, and Eskel’s other arm slides beneath his knees.</p>
<p>Lambert tries to make himself anything but dead weight, and likely doesn’t succeed even a little. Despite that, Eskel lifts him easily, not even grunting with exertion as he stands from the odd sort of crouch he’d been in. For a moment, Lambert lets his head dangle back, the world spinning slightly around him. It’s dark in the room, all of the candles blown out. He could see, if he wanted, but focusing his eyes and widening his pupils seems like too much effort.</p>
<p>“Come on, Lamb,” Eskel murmurs, and shifts him until his head is up, no longer dangling over Eskel’s bicep but laid on his shoulder. Lambert squirms a little so he can press his nose against the crook of Eskel’s neck, taking a deep, slow breath through his nose. Eskel just chuckles again and holds him a little tighter. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”</p>
<p>“I know,” Lambert mumbles, still breathing deep and slow to take in as much of Eskel’s scent as he can. He smells like the two of them, like sex and sweat and lust, but also like happiness, like love. “Always have me, Kel.”</p>
<p>Eskel makes a soft sound. “I do,” he confirms.</p>
<p>Lambert dozes off there, secure in Eskel’s arms, nose pressed against his neck. He knows they must leave the tower room, that Eskel must carry him back down to the main level of the castle, but he doesn’t remember any of the trip except for Eskel’s soft murmuring at him.</p>
<p>When he does wake up again, they’re moving downward again, toward the hot springs and the baths. It’s damp and a little cold, where the water has reached but the heat hasn’t, and Lambert snuggles closer to Eskel’s chest, whining quietly.</p>
<p>“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Eskel soothes. “Almost there. I’ll take care of you, I promise.”</p>
<p>Lambert hums an acknowledgement and presses a kiss to Eskel’s collarbone. Eskel hums back, and slowly the air around them gets warmer, the change making Lambert shiver pleasantly.</p>
<p>There’s a smile in Eskel’s voice when he speaks again. “I’m going to set you down, Lamb, okay?”</p>
<p>“Hm. Kay.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t bother opening his eyes, knowing Eskel doesn’t need him to, and settles easily when he’s set into a shallow pool of hot water. He shudders, moaning softly at the heat, and Eskel chuckles again.</p>
<p>“Feel good?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“I’m glad. Lay back.”</p>
<p>Lambert does as he’s told, and finds he’s leaning against a hot towel, draped over the head of what has to be one of the tubs. “Geralt?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Not here, but he made sure the bath was ready,” Eskel says, and Lambert nods his understanding. “Relax, sweetheart, I’ll move you if I need to.”</p>
<p>“Okay.” Lambert does as he’s told, floating off again into a half-doze as Eskel runs gentle hands and a soft washcloth over his skin.</p>
<p>He’s thorough in his washing, and Lambert giggles when the washcloth tickles his inner thighs, his balls. Eskel just hums at him, soothing and amused all at once, and Lambert cracks one eye open to look at him. He looks focused but relaxed, a small smile on his face as he watches what he’s doing with the washcloth.</p>
<p>“Love you,” Lambert mumbles, letting his eye close again because it’s too hard to keep it open.</p>
<p>“Love you too, sweetheart,” Eskel murmurs back, sincere and immediate, and Lambert squirms a little, happy. Eskel just huffs, a sound that should sound exasperated but just sounds content, and Lambert knows he’s probably grinning like a dope, but doesn’t bother trying to school the expression.</p>
<p>He’s relaxed, and everything feels <em> wonderful, </em> and Eskel keeps touching him and calling him sweetheart. Everything is <em> great. </em></p>
<p>“I’m going to move you, Lamb.”</p>
<p>“Kay.”</p>
<p>Eskel’s hands are large and hot on his shoulders, and he goes where he’s pushed, sitting up until his knees are to his chest. There’s some sound, something shifting, water rushing, and then Eskel is sliding into the tub behind him. Lambert immediately relaxes back against his chest, and Eskel just pets over his pec in reward.</p>
<p>“Keep your eyes closed, sweetheart.”</p>
<p>“Mm.”</p>
<p>The water is hot on his scalp, but it feels good, and Eskel’s hands following it feel even better. His hair is clean, doesn’t need another wash, but Lambert can’t bring himself to protest. This ritual is more important than his feelings about wasting soap, he knows, and also, he doesn’t have the will to do anything except what Eskel wants of him right now. He’s still floating, even if it’s lower than before, and he doesn’t want to settle down quite yet.</p>
<p>“Look so nice when you’re relaxed like this,” Eskel murmurs, carefully rinsing the soap from Lambert’s hair. He doesn’t stop playing with it, though, combing the worst of the tangles out with his fingers before one hand disappears and returns with a brush. Lambert melts further back into him at the familiar pull of the bristles through his hair. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”</p>
<p>“Good,” Lambert answers, immediate and honest. “Still – mm. ‘S good.”</p>
<p>“I’m glad,” Eskel repeats, dropping a kiss to Lambert’s temple. He slowly brushes Lambert’s hair, and the rhythm of it is easy to get lost in. Lambert’s mind wanders, though he doesn’t really <em> think. </em> Nothing is concrete; just formless shapes, little, fleeting thoughts that are gone as quickly as they came.</p>
<p>Eventually, though, Eskel puts the brush aside again and Lambert comes back to the surface a little more.</p>
<p>“Want to stay in the bath for a bit?”</p>
<p>Lambert considers for a moment. “…no,” he decides, starting to feel where his fingers and toes are pruning. “Your bed?”</p>
<p>“Of course. Sit forward a little?”</p>
<p>He manages to do as he’s asked mostly of his own willpower, but only barely. Eskel hums and helps him stay shifted forward with one hand while he climbs out of the tub. Lambert shifts back to lean against the back of the tub while Eskel dries himself off, then takes the hand he’s offered to climb out himself.</p>
<p>It’s easy to stand still and let Eskel dry him off, even though he’s slowly, slowly starting to drift closer to earth again. Eskel seems to notice.</p>
<p>“Want to dress yourself?” he asks.</p>
<p>Again, Lambert takes a moment to consider. “Hm. Help?”</p>
<p>“Mhm.”</p>
<p>Eskel holds him steady while he struggles into a soft pair of loose pants, and then helps straighten the long sleeves on a plain tunic. Once the clothes are settled, he strokes down Lambert’s chest affectionately and kisses his nose.</p>
<p>“Want me to carry you?”</p>
<p>He doesn’t have to stop and think about this one. “Yes.”</p>
<p>Eskel grins and kisses his nose again before sweeping him up into his arms, just as easily as before. Lambert sucks in a gasp at the sudden movement, but settles easily, clinging tightly to Eskel’s shoulders.</p>
<p>He shivers at the change in air temperature as they go back, but doesn’t complain, and Eskel doesn’t say anything, just holds him a little tighter. Lambert is still awake by the time they make it to Eskel’s room, but only just; he’s feeling more settled now, almost no floating left, but he’s still exhausted, limbs feeling weak and eyelids heavy.</p>
<p>Eskel sets him down on the bed and goes to stoke the fire in the hearth. Lambert crawls into the center of the massive mattress and squirms underneath the blankets, watching as Eskel adds more wood and uses Igni to make sure it catches.</p>
<p>Lambert holds out his arms when Eskel returns to the bed, and Eskel comes easily, letting Lambert wrap himself around his body like some kind of barnacle with nothing more than an indulgent chuckle. He tips his head back a little, eyes closed, and Eskel sees the silent question for what it is. The kiss is chaste, soft, and Lambert sighs happily.</p>
<p>“Again,” he says, and he gets another kiss. “Again.”</p>
<p>Eskel huffs a laugh and kisses him again, and again, and again, and again. Lambert smiles into each one even as he starts to slowly drift to sleep.</p>
<p>“Love you,” he says again, just as he starts to lose his grip on what’s real and what’s not.</p>
<p>“Love you too, Lamb,” Eskel whispers. Another kiss, one that almost doesn’t feel real. “Sleep well, sweetheart. I’ll be here.”</p>
<p>“Better be,” Lambert mumbles, right against Eskel’s mouth, and then sleep finally takes him.</p>
<p>He doesn’t actually hear Eskel’s soft reply of, “There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” but even in his dreams he understands the sentiment, and clings just a little bit tighter.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>bonus points if you caught the arrested youth lyric i slid into this ✌</p></blockquote></div></div>
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